


Black eyes and a bleeding heart

by EllieStormfound



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Geralt is heartbroken by the awfulness of humans, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Humans are the Real Monsters, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Takes Care of Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mention of Death, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Roach is the Best (The Witcher), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24891598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieStormfound/pseuds/EllieStormfound
Summary: Geralt is once again reminded that humans are the real monsters and Jaskier reminds him that the witcher is the hero and not the monster
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 155





	Black eyes and a bleeding heart

It was suddenly quiet in the forest clearing, where just a moment ago shouts and the clash of swords had echoed. In the middle of the clearing stood Geralt of Rivia, drenched in blood, steel sword in hand and eyes completely black. 

He was still in his witcher fighting mode after killing an Ozzrel that had plagued the nearby town. But instead of thanking him and paying the beforehand agreed coin, the men of the town had decided to kill the witcher, when they had thought him most vulnerable - directly after the fight. Which of course they had not accomplished. Now the witcher stood in a pile of bodies, some still breathing, some don’t. 

Jaskier knew that Geralt never killed humans when he could in any way avoid it. Often he would quietly endure insults and stones thrown at him. But tonight there had been too many. He had tried to knock as many of them unconscious as possible, but a few of the more skilled and persistent opponents could not be stopped but with a blade through their hearts. 

Slowly the eerie quiet got interrupted by birdsong and the rustle of the trees. Jaskier came out of his hiding place walking slowly to his witcher, who was still standing there, breathing, blood dripping from his blade. “Geralt”, Jaskier said. Geralt’s black eyes focused on the bard, the grip around the sword hilt tightening, not recognising his travelling companion. “It’s okay, Geralt”, Jaskier said softly, “it’s me, Jaskier.” 

It was not always easy for Geralt to snap back, when he was still under the influence of the potions, his adrenaline still pounding through his veins and his instincts taken over control of his body. 

Because Geralt was still not moving, Jaskier made the last steps to him, careful not to step on the bodies. “Geralt”, Jaskier said again softly. The witcher was still looking at his bard but was not clutching his sword as tightly as before. Jaskier counted that as a good sign and asked softly, “give me your hand, Geralt.”

Jaskier had discovered over the months they had travelled together that it helped the witcher to switch back to his normal self when he was addressed by his name. Maybe it reminded the witcher that he was not just a brutal killing machine but also a person.

The bard held out his hand and waited. Geralt had warned not to touch him uninvited when he was under the influence of the potions, because in this instinctual phase the witcher could interpret it as an attack. After a minute Geralt breathed in deep and slowly, very slowly and deliberately lifted the hand that was not holding his sword and grabbed onto Jaskier’s. Jaskier turned, holding on to the witcher’s hand and said “come on, let’s find Roach and get out of here.”

Geralt’s horse, used to the routine of the fights, had learned over the years when it was safe to come back out again and was trotting towards them. Jaskier mounted Roach and helped the witcher up behind him. Geralt seemed to have come back a bit, having sheathed his sword on his own, but was still not talking. Not that that was an indication of his normal self.  
“Geralt, hold on to me”, said the bard and when he felt Geralt’s strong arms slowly wrapping around his middle, he gently pushed his feet into Roach’s sides to start their journey away from this place. 

After they had ridden for a time through the forest, Jaskier estimated that they were far enough away. The remaining townspeople would be busy patching up the injured and burying the dead than to follow them. Geralt was still not talking but dismounted Roach without Jaskier having to suggest it.

He sat on the forest floor, not bothering to check if it was wet or laying down a blanket first. Normally by now he would at least had grunted something to Jaskier and cleaning his sword. But not tonight. Jaskier started to get just a tiny bit nervous.

“Geralt, do you want to eat something? We still have a loaf of bread from breakfast and some cheese. And let me get you something to drink,” Jaskier chattered, intend to fill the silence. The witcher looked down to the ground and Jaskier could have sworn that he looked sad. Not a normal expression on the witcher’s face. He got out his waterskin and pressed it into Geralt’s hand, who grabbed it but did not move it to his lips. 

Jaskier took another thorough look at his witcher, noticing the bloodstains on his face and hands. Witch a soft cloth he had grabbed from the saddlebags he knelt down in front of Geralt. “Let me clean you up a bit”, he said softly, taking the waterskin back from the quiet witcher and damped the cloth. 

He took Geralt's right hand into his and started with the back of the hand, than cleaning each finger one after another before he turned the hand and softly rubbed the dried blood from the palm. After he was finished with the right hand he took Geralt’s left into his and began the process of cleaning anew. Slowly and deliberately he cleaned away the blood and dirt that were the very reminder of the fight. 

When the witcher’s hands were clean, Jaskier washed out the cloth and quietly addressed Geralt, “if you look up, I could clean away the blood on your face.” Geralt lifted his head slowly and Jaskier could see that a bit of white started to show in the corners of Geralt's eyes again. That was a good sign and the anxiety that had squeezed his stomach into a tight knot started to loosen a bit. 

“May I?,” Jaskier asked. Geralt only stared at him. Jaskier lifted the washcloth deliberately slow, giving the witcher time to protest or move away. Cleaning someone’s hands was one thing but cleaning their face another and he did not want to overstep Geralt’s boundaries. But the witcher did not move and did not take his eyes off of Jaskiers face. The bard gently rubbed at the specs of dried blood on the witchers left cheek, placing his other hand lightly on Geralt's right cheek to hold his head in place. 

It had been a hell of a fight. Short, but bloody. Jaskier found specs of blood not only on Geralt’s cheeks, forehead and chin. “Close your eyes”, he said, his face so near the witcher’s that Geralt must have felt Jaskiers breath on it, “ so I can clean away the blood on your eyelids.” Geralt did as he was asked.

The bard knew that Geralt did not easily show physical affection and was in most instances not comfortable receiving them. He was not a hugger and sharing blankets in a cold night was just a practicality to keep the human bard, who froze far easier than a witcher, warm and safe. 

But Jaskier wondered if it could help Geralt to sometimes feel a friendly touch. Not the professional touch of sexworkers they frequented when they happened to travel through a town with a brothel. Or the thankful pat on the arm from someone Geralt had saved. But a hug from a friend - freely given without any expectations.

Despite his massive form and height, Geralt looked small and lost to Jaskier and he ached to wrap his arms around his friend to hold him till Geralt would find his way back to himself.

Jaskier stood up and went to remove the saddlebags from Roach and started to set up camp for the night. Normally they shared the familiar chores of gathering wood and starting a fire, collecting fresh water from a nearby stream, laying down their bedrolls and preparing a meal. When the fire was burning, Geralt’s eyes seemed back to normal again and he sat down on his bedroll without Jaskier having to ask him. But he still had not said a single word.

The bard was not sure what had been different today. The fight with the Ozzrel had been over fast and having to fight close-minded humans was admittedly a rare incident but nothing completely new. The soup Jaskier was preparing over the fire with the last potatoes and onions he had found in their saddlebags started to cook and he handed geralt bread and cheese, which the witcher accepted. 

To Jaskier’s surprise Geralt took a bite from the bread. Jaskier stirred the soup when he heard Geralt sigh and finally speak, quietly and warily “I am so tired, Jaskier.” 

With concern the bard looked up at the witcher, who was staring unseeingly into the fire. Geralt had never before told him he was tired and worry grew again in his heart. Geralt continued, “why do they make me kill them?”

Jaskier let go of the wooden spoon with which he had stirred the soup, walked over till he stood in front of his friend. Geralt’s head was hanging down, shoulders hunched. Carefully the bard placed a hand on the white hair, thumb stroking a circle. And to his surprise the witcher wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s middle, pressing his head into his belly.

Jaskier could more feel than hear Geralt say, “I am supposed to keep them safe.” 

Jaskier’s heart hurt. He had let all his talent and inspiration flow into creating the epic songs about Geralt of Rivia, the white wolf, to let everyone know about his nobel deeds, about how the witchers used their brute force and training to serve humanity by keeping them safe from monsters. 

And it had worked, at least a bit. In the towns and villages that had heard Jaskier’s songs the people paid Geralt more, where less hostile and afraid of him. But it seemed that they had not reached every corner of the world or that greed and prejudices were often stronger than even the most skillfully composed song.

“And that is what you do”, Jaskier replied, stroking the white hair, “but not everyone is willing to see that.” Geralt’s answering “hm” sounded like the growl of a wounded animal, reverberating in the bard’s stomach. “You save them and what they do after that with their miserable lives is not your responsibility.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry?  
> Thank you for reading!  
> Find me on tumblr [EllieStormfound](https://elliestormfound.tumblr.com/)


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